


In the Heat of the Morning

by foolsonparade



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rated for swearing, Romance, Sickfic, humbug era, milex - Freeform, seriously this is so fluffy and stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsonparade/pseuds/foolsonparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles catches a cold and Alex dotes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Heat of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doodlestrudel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlestrudel/gifts), [Gandt](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Gandt).



> Disclaimer: Never happened (as far as I know). I don't own Miles or Alex; I just occasionally borrow them for my twisted enjoyment.  
> At this point, I've accepted that I'm almost exclusively a sickfic and hurt/comfort writer. I do write other things, but somehow these fluffy oneshots are the only ones I get around to finishing. I'm very fortunate, though, to have such accepting and encouraging readers. Thank you guys so much for your support!  
> This was named for The Last Shadow Puppets' cover of the brilliant In the Heat of the Morning, and was written for doodlestrudel and Gandt who commented on my last fic, Away from Harm, and requested some sick Miles and nurse Alex. Thank you both so much for the wonderful suggestion and for taking the time to read and comment on my fics. <3 xx  
> Alright, I'm gonna shut up now and get on with it. Enjoy!

There’s a nasty cold going around. Pretty much everyone Miles knows has had it at some point recently, and he’s known since Alex woke up coughing one morning just a few days previous that a day would come when he would see a similar fate. Evidentially, that day has arrived.

He’s not sure what time it is, but it must still be morning judging by the pale sunlight shining in through the cracks in the blinds. Miles thinks he hears Alex shuffling about in the kitchen and so supposedly he’s not been awake for long, which, while comforting, brings to light the suspicion that maybe Miles could’ve gotten away with snatching a couple more minutes of shut-eye. Still, he’s more or less conscious now and so it seems to make sense to shake himself fully awake.

It’s difficult to liberate himself from sleep’s tight embrace, but Miles manages to resurface fully in the waking world, though he immediately wishes he hadn’t bothered. He’s not feeling up to par, and if the pressure in his head and the aching in his throat are anything to go by, he’s definitely caught Alex’s cold. As unsurprising as this is, he’s still not pleased.

It makes sense to get out of bed, he thinks, but he desperately doesn’t want to. Really, he’d much rather stay tucked under the covers and wait for Alex to inevitably grow worried by his absence and come find him in his pitiful state, but he also thinks that maybe it’d be good for him to walk around a bit.

Eventually, he does get up, though it takes him some time to recover from the head rush that greets him when he sits up. He’s suddenly very aware of the stuffiness of his nose and he feels very miserable, but by this point he’s already up and so he may as well go find Alex.

Pattering into the kitchen and using his hand to muffle the sound of his sniffling, Miles catches sight of Alex immediately and his heart overflows with relief. He didn’t realize that he was lonely until he was greeted by the picturesque sight of Alex curled up in his favorite chair at the kitchen table, newspaper propped up against the tabletop and hand clutching his favorite mug, but suddenly he’s overcome by a warm feeling of respite and he finds himself smiling. Miles realizes that Alex has made tea, and suddenly he feels parched.

“Mornin’,” he hails, pulling a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself some tea. He considers drinking it with honey to soothe his throat, but he doesn’t want to clue Alex in on his distress any quicker than necessary. He sits down across from Alex.

“Mornin’, love.” Alex folds up the paper and pushes it aside, apparently finding Miles far more interesting. “Are you alright?”

So much for not clueing him in. Miles often forgets how scarily perceptive Alex is.

He goes to assure him that he’s fine, just tired, but he doesn’t get the chance. Alex has already analyzed his features, posture, and speech and has arrived at a conclusion. “You’ve caught what I had, haven’t you?”

Miles almost laughs but he swallows it down along with a mouthful of tea.

“I’m sorry, love,” Alex says, and he looks just that. Those round eyes are glazed with concern and regret, and Miles knows that he’s currently beating himself up over shared germs. “I didn’t mean to give it to ya. Were hopin’ your immune system were better than mine.”

“It’s not your fault,” Miles assures him. “Me immune system’s prolly still better than yours.” It’s meant to be a joke, but it’s certainly laced with truth. Alex’s immune system has proven as useful in battling infections as a knife in a proverbial gunfight. “But I’m not indestructible, y’know.”

Alex doesn’t respond to that and Miles half wonders if he’s even been listening. His eyes are darting wildly from one of Miles’ features to the next as if trying to come up with a sound diagnosis just from looking at him and Miles is actually confident that he’ll succeed. Doctor or no, Alex is clever enough to create a list of symptoms and do a mental search for a corresponding illness, and so Miles stays quiet and allows him to do his sleuthing.

“Do you have a fever?” Alex asks at length, hand now hovering a few inches from Miles’ face as if asking permission to make contact. Miles nods his consent, and then waits until Alex has a hand on his face to reply.

“Prolly not,” he says. “You didn’t, did ya?”

“No,” Alex agrees. “And I don’t think you do neither, but we should keep an eye on that just in case.” Miles wants to roll his eyes, but he’s too charmed by Alex’s concern to go through with it. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s just what I had,” Alex says, playing with Miles’ hair absently across the table. “You should be resting.”

“I’m not standin’ or nothin’,” Miles says as Alex’s hand retreats and his eyes lose their distant, calculating look. “I’m sittin’ and drinkin’ tea. What else can I do?”

Alex stands up and pads over to the sink, supposedly to wash his mug. He hasn’t dressed yet and so he’s still clad in only his boxers and an old t-shirt, and Miles finds it undeniably endearing. Almost as endearing as his stubble and his disheveled curls.

“You could be sleepin’,” Alex suggests, tone bordering on grim. He’s scrubbing his mug now beneath the spray of the faucet and so he has to raise his voice slightly to be heard above the running water.

“I’ve a cold, Al, not the bloody plague,” Miles laughs. Alex shoots him a weak smile over his shoulder, but the gesture is lost to the concern in his eyes. “Chrissakes, ya do know colds aren’t fatal, dontcha?”

“How ‘bout you sod off, yeah?” Alex responds. “I’m just worried is all. Last I checked that weren’t a crime.”

Alex scuttles back over but doesn’t sit down just yet, lingering instead by the table just a few inches from where Miles is seated. He looks as if he’s on the fence about something, like he’s considering asking a question but isn’t certain he wants to go through with it, and Miles wishes he’d spit it out or go have a seat again. He’s making him somewhat nervous just standing there.

“Can I get you anythin’?” Alex finally asks, though he seems to have settled for a question other than the one he’d originally intended. “Medicine, more tea, toast…”

“I can get it, Al,” Miles says, shaking his head and moving to get up before a hand on the back of his chair stops him.

Alex meets his gaze, eyebrows knitted together. “What do you need?” he probes, voice soft.

“Really, love,” Miles insists, unable to avoid smiling at Alex’s eager expression, “I’m fine. You don’t ‘ave to go ‘round fulfilling me every whim.”

“I don’t _have_ to do _any_ thin’,” Alex points out, stepping closer and reaching out with the apparent intention of brushing some stray hairs from Miles’ face. Again, he waits for Miles’ permission before touching him, but when Miles gives him the okay he tucks the strands away and runs his fingers across Miles’ jawline. “I want to help, Mi. If you’ll let me.”

Miles grabs Alex’s hand and presses his lips tenderly against his bony knuckles. “Alright,” he allows, nodding his head in acquiescence. “Toast would be lovely. And I wouldn’t object to some of that cold medicine ya had me pumpin’ you full of when you were ill.”

Alex doesn’t reply, opting instead for a nod of the head and a grateful smile. Leaning forward, he plants a kiss on the top of Miles’ head and then crosses the linoleum floor of the kitchen to pop some bread in the toaster. A minute later, he disappears to fetch Miles’ requested cold medicine.

He’s not gone for long, but still Miles finds himself missing Alex’s company. The silence that falls upon the room in his absence is different from the warm, comfortable one they share when they’re together on a regular morning, quietly munching on their breakfast and sipping their morning tea, and the change is very unwelcome. Maybe it’s just the malaise weighing down his spirits, but he’s overcome by the desire for Alex’s gentle presence.

There’s a feeling of anticipation that’s settled in his being, and it probably comes with the building pressure that’s unpacked its bags someplace between his sinuses and palate. He’s on the verge of a sneeze that’s in no hurry to provide reprieve, and the tea is surprisingly inutile in lessening the sensation. All the same, he swallows it down in the hopes that it will change its mind and offer some aid.

When Alex returns, Miles is languidly sipping at his tea with what must be a very pathetic expression etched on his face and Alex’s features are twisted by a sullen grimace.

“Here ya are, love,” he says, voice soft and somber as he hands Miles the medicine he’d traversed the flat to retrieve. “Toast should be done shor—” He’s cut off by the sound of the toaster popping, and an endearing expression of surprise tugs his lips into a feeble smile. “’ow d’you want it?”

“Dry’s fine,” Miles says, sniffling against the budding need to sneeze. “Doubtful I’ll be able to taste it anyways.”

Alex fills this request, and a minute later Miles is lethargically chewing his tasteless breakfast while Alex eyes him from his own seat across the table.

“Alright?” Alex asks. He’s tapping his fingers on the tabletop, a nervous habit of his.

Miles isn’t sure if he’s asking about the toast or Miles himself, but either way he feels compelled to dispel the tension in Alex’s narrow shoulders with a reassuring, “yep.” He smiles to complete the effect, but it’s clear that Alex won’t fall for it.

“Didya take your medicine, then?” he inquires, tone casual and conversational even as his eyes dart between Miles and the capsules very clearly resting on the tabletop still.

Miles grins apologetically, nose twitching in response to the nascent need to sneeze, and scoops up the capsules. “I forgot already,” he says, but immediately throws back the pills and chases them down with the last of his tea. “You needn’t look so worried, love. I’m fine, really.”

Alex doesn’t appear to be comforted by these words, and Miles can’t say he blames him. He’s highly doubtful that he’s managed any semblance of being alright when in reality the lights of the kitchen have gone from irritating to abusive in the short time he’s been seated here, and the itch at the back of his nose is so abrasive it could almost be mistaken for actual pain. He’s feeling increasingly unwell, and he’s sure that Alex can see every ounce of discomfort on display in his teary eyes.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Miles lets whatever’s left of his façade drop.

“Fine, you caught me, Al. I feel pretty fuckin’ shitty,” Miles confesses, sniffling despite the cotton-ball-like congestion in his nose, head, and ears. “But I’ve still only got a cold. I might feel like death but I ain’t about to snuff it.”

“Can I help?” Alex asks though it’s obvious they both know he really can’t on account of lacking either a medical degree or superpowers.

Miles still finds himself smiling, though, because Alex’s tone is so gentle and sincere. It’s like Miles being uncomfortable physically pains him. “You ‘elp just by bein’ ‘round, love,” Miles says, and he has just enough time to offer Alex a grin before the tickle in his nose reaches optimum ferocity and is released in the form of harsh sneeze. He tries to stifle it in his shoulder, but given his newfound grip on the edge of the table, the sheer force of it rattles his mug and plate and coaxes a laugh from Alex’s lips. Miles wants to be annoyed, but the sound of Alex’s laughter is just too lovely to permit such negative emotion.

“Bless you,” Alex says, releasing the last of his pent-up laughter in the form of a gentle cough.

“Ta,” replies Miles, and the two share a good-humored smile before Alex hops to his feet with a baffling eagerness and exits the kitchen once again.

This time, he’s gone for no longer than a minute and returns with a brand new box of tissues in hand, and Miles is flooded with relief and gratitude at the sight. It’s comforting to know that they didn’t run out of supplies during Alex’s illness, though it occurs to Miles that maybe they did and Alex had the foresight to restock when he went grocery shopping the previous day. Either way, Miles is cheered to know that they’re prepared to handle another illness so soon after the last.

 Alex reclaims his seat and tears open the top of the tissue box before sliding it across the table surface to Miles, who spends the wait sniffling miserably and wondering at how his nose has somehow managed to be stuffed up and runny at the same time. Grateful, he yanks a tissue from the box and blows his nose rather unproductively while Alex eyes him with his standard concern and a hint of what could be amusement.

“Better?” Alex asks when Miles tosses the used tissue across the room and narrowly avoids missing the bin.

“Not even close,” Miles responds honestly, huffing a laugh despite not finding it very funny. The action irritates the congestion in his chest and sends him coughing, but the fit doesn’t last long and by the end of it Alex has come around the table to rub his back gently.

Miles can’t see him, but he can practically hear the frown twisting those pretty lips. “I’m sorry,” Alex says regretfully.

“It’s okay,” Miles assures him, smiling fondly. “I’ve never ‘ad a cold kill me before, so I rather like me chances of survival.”

Alex laughs, but the sadness sticks around still.

“Hey, how’s about we—” Miles is going to suggest that they go back to bed and cuddle for a bit, maybe put on a record, but he’s cut off by a sneeze so forceful he loses his stability and nearly topples out of his chair. It’s funny, really, and so he laughs, but he also grapples for a tissue and tries to right himself in his seat.

Alex allows himself to chuckle a bit too, but he also places a timid hand atop Miles’ head and twirls his hair around his finger. “Gesundheit,” he says softly, retracting his hand as if he’s just noticed what he was doing. Alex is rather sensitive about being touched without warning, and so he’s always been more or less faithful in waiting for consent before laying so much as a finger on Miles. It’s sweet, Miles thinks, even if he himself doesn’t mind being touched, and so he never mentions the habit to Alex and tries to return the favor as much as possible.

“Thank you,” Miles says after he’s blown his nose. As expected, the action did little more than shift the congestion around on his nose, but he still feels better for going through with just it for politeness’ sake. “Y’know, I’m not sure how to say ‘thank you’ in German,” Miles muses, trying to elicit a smile from Alex who has moved to lean against the side of table. “Why do we even bless people in German in the first place? I'm not German.”

“’Gesundheit’ don’t mean ‘bless you,’ actually,” Alex says. Miles finds himself once again charmed by Alex’s arguably-trivial knowledge. “It just means ‘health.’ It’s just, like, wishin’ you good health or whatever. Rather nice, when you think about it.”

“When you think about it,” Miles says, cracking a wide grin, “you’re just shoutin’ the word ‘health’ at somebody, and that’s actually a bit weird.”

Alex shrugs and then flips some curls out of his face. “Matter of perspective, I s’pose.”

Miles offers a hoarse laugh, managing this time to avoid another coughing fit, and stands slowly to avoid making himself dizzy. “C’mon, love, let’s go back to bed. I’m right knackered and I think I’m well deservin’ of some cuddling.”

“Are you goin’ to finish your breakfast?” Alex asks, eyebrows drawn together. Miles remembers then that he left his toast abandoned on the table, but he feels no desire to resume eating.

“Nah,” Miles says, shaking his head a bit before realizing that the action makes him dizzy. “Not that hungry, to be honest.”

Alex looks troubled by this news, but he still clears the table without a word of argument and asks over his shoulder, “D’ya want some more tea?” He’s dumped the remainders of Miles’ toast in the garbage bin and put the plate in the sink for later washing, but he’s kept the mug out. “I’ll put honey in it, if you’d like.”

“Eh, why not,” Miles says, leaning against the doorframe for support.

While he searches the cabinets, Alex adds over his shoulder, “You can head to bed, baby. I’ll be there in a mo,” and Miles sniffles and crosses his arms over his ribcage.

“I’d rather wait,” he confesses. “Think I’d miss ya too much.”

Pulling the honey jar from the cabinet and struggling with the lid, Alex smiles just a bit. “I won’t be long, love,” he says though his tone suggests that he realizes this is nonnegotiable. “It’s only tea, y’know.”

Miles doesn’t offer a response, and in a way this serves as response enough. He’s very certain that he’s not going anywhere so long as Alex is still in here, and he hopes that he conveys this adequately even despite his lethargic stance and his bleary gaze.

A few minutes later finds Alex placing Miles’ tea and tissues on the bedside table before tucking him securely beneath the covers. His hair mostly obscures his face, but Miles can tell from the very atmosphere that Alex’s expression would speak of concern and love were it visible, and this suspicion is confirmed a moment later when he lifts his head and meets Miles’ sleepy gaze.

He turns around as if to go, and Miles catches his skinny wrist in his lax grip.

“Where’re ya goin’?” he asks, scrunching up his face into what he hopes is an endearing pouty expression.

“Just over ‘ere, love,” Alex assures him, smiling out of both amusement and affection. “I’m not leavin’, I swear it.”

Miles lets go, comforted, and allows himself to sink down into the warm covers. Through half-lidded eyes he sees Alex pick something off the bookshelf in the corner and then pad back over to bed, but his eyelids slip down over his eyes a second later and the only thing that alerts him to Alex’s presence is the dipping of the mattress that lets him know he’s crawled into bed beside him and the low humming of his voice as he begins reading to Miles from the book of his choice.

Miles is asleep before Alex has even finished reading the first page. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got a mo, please leave me a comment or message me at most-indignant.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you so much! Have a wonderful day <3 xx


End file.
